


In and Out of Azkaban

by DarthKrande



Series: Azkaban AU [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animagus, Azkaban, Hogwarts, Teacher Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthKrande/pseuds/DarthKrande
Summary: Sequel of Eyes and Nose / Snapshots. Now that Sirius is free and recovering, he's asked to substitute Moony as a teacher during full moons. Meanwhile, he has to come to terms with the DMLE and apparently, being released doesn't mean he won't get even deeper into dementor business.





	1. Third years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Black has his first lesson with Gryffindor third years. He's teaching something he'd learned at school.

"Good morning, class."

He hoped he sounded calm. He hoped he sounded like a teacher. He hoped he sounded like a sane, reliable person, someone who would, in time, take the role of a deceased father.

Sirius Black looked at the class of third-years, and his silvery blue gaze met a pair of bright green eyes. Eyes so much like Lily's, on a face that looked like James in the rare moments when he wasn't plotting something wild and adventurous.

He had seen this boy during practice last night. Remus had taken him directly to the quidditch pitch after dinner, an hour before moonrise. He had introduced the substitute teacher to the Gryffindor team, then had hurried back to the castle to take his potion. After training, which Sirius could watch from the referee’s tower, they had their first talk – mostly about James and quidditch in general. The team captain (his name was something tree-related, but Sirius couldn’t for his life remember what it was) mentioned the interview in the Prophet.

“No wonder he was the youngest seeker Gryffindor ever had,” a pretty chaser witch added. “With a godfather who’d give him a broom when he was only one!”

They all laughed. Harry’s green eyes were shining as he looked at his godfather, and he asked if Sirius could share more stories about James the next day.

It was a good start, in short. Sirius was greeted as a long-lost family member, not as a walking ghost who should have been staying at St. Mungo’s, sipping recovery potion. After long years, he could hope for a normal life again.

But teaching was different. He had to prove himself: to the Gryffindors, to the Slytherins, and also, to himself. Not even those green-robed little purebloods doubted him as much as he doubted himself. Teaching wasn't even his idea, to come and try his hand at the position that had been jinxed before he was born. However, Lupin had asked him, if only to prevent a second catastrophe after Snape had talked about werewolves in his absence.

"Good morning, Professor Black," chorused the students.

Sirius touched his wand for reassurance. He felt like a fish out of water. "As you all know, Remus is unable to teach today. I will leave teaching about imps to him when he gets better. But if anyone is curious," he blinked at the long-haired witch he had met in the library the previous day, "she can read the book, of course."

"Not werewolves again," another Gryffindor witch, a brown-skinned young lady, murmured. He replied with a wide grin.

"What I'm about to teach you today is not in the books, not this one, nor any in the front half of Madam Pince's domain." Suddenly, the students appeared intrigued. "It won't be in your exams, now or during your N.E.W.T.s and I doubt it will ever earn your houses any points." The bookworm witch now looked disappointed while every other kid was staring at him in anticipation. Harry wiped his unruly hair from his forehead, revealing the lightning scar.

"Only, it might save your lives, more than once if you have any enemies. Not a powerful defence, but you will at least know who to be prepared for.” He wished he could remember all the mischief the Marauders had once managed, but his memories had faded too much in the past several years.

 “I believe you were told to bring two rolls of parchment. One is what you will write on. Now, please, cut the other in half. You can keep the notes, but these halves will be incinerated before the lesson is over. Ready? Now, we will start with a signature spell. Point your wands at the centre of the parchment, and focus on how you would define yourself. Try not to lie to your own wands."

He gave them a few moments to gather their thoughts.

"Now, the incantation is extremely complicated. After the wand makes contact, say this." He paused, his mischievous smile back. "I."

All right, it wasn’t the best joke he ever had, but it was someplace to start.

"My name appeared there!"

"Mine too!"

"That's better than my real handwriting!"

"I take it that you haven’t learnt the signature spell yet. Be warned, its use is taken seriously. Also, it is extremely hard to forge, because there are subtle differences between a real signature and one that's copied with a quill. Also, a wizard might be able to reproduce another's signature, if they have permission. However, once the signature is permitted, the wizard can reproduce it anytime with the same spell. An untrained eye can skip the markers this kind of secondary signature leaves, and some say it's better quality if the wand is either the same as the first time, or if it's the signatured wizard's own. In Gringotts, for example, this is one of the reasons the wand is observed." He waited for the students to take notes. Very few did.

"Now, on to being prepared for an attack. I would like you to point your wands at the person next to you, hold the same parchment in your other hand, then wave the wand’s tip to the sheet. Try it."

It still wasn't N.E.W.T.-level enchantment, but the pupils had apparently never tried it before. They all were surprised when the other's name appeared on the parchment next to their own.

"I'd rather have werewolves again," a Slytherin yawned. Sirius ignored him.

"Now, please, take your quills and draw the outlines of this room. Then stand up and get the others' names on your sheets. Get as many as you can - you have one minute."

The children started moving, and so did the names on their parchments. Soon, everybody had the map of the classroom, and had at least twelve names scattered across it. Each student was holding a sheet with themselves in the middle, and they could easily tell who was behind them, or who was in the opposite corner, out of their sight.

"Good! Time's up! Am I still as boring as Snivellus Snape?"

"Worse!" a Slytherin girl immediately replied. She sounded more sullen than bored. Apparently she understood that this mapping spell could ruin the sort of entertainment she preferred. Sirius ignored her.

"Return to your seats, please. Take notes, because those are what you will take home from class today." With that, he collected all the used parchments from their desks, made a ball of them in the centre, then set it alight. He ignored the protests.

"Now, let's go to the corridor with the other half of your parchments, take your ink and quill, and ten points to whoever finds Mr. Filch first. Twenty points if you manage in the first two minutes, thirty if you make it one. Time starts.... Now!"

He watched as the kids spread out to the stairway, where they started waving their wands at random directions. Some started with charting the castle. Soon they had rudimentary maps of the building, with various people of various classrooms being tracked on them. Sirius looked at them with pride. One hour into his teaching, and he had already managed to pass on the most important self-protecting art of magic that he had learnt during his school years.

"Sir?"

Harry was hanging back with him, not even trying to find Filch.

"May I ask you something, Mr. Black?"

"Anything, kid." He looked at his godson, afraid that he’d be asked if he had James Potter's permission to use his signature. He didn’t have an idea what to reply in that case. As he remembered, Harry's permission form to Hogsmeade had been signed on an icy July night. Anyone with eyes could tell it was an allowed replication of his father's writing. In fact, someone without eyes had been quite upset afterwards, thinking Sirius's visit would be discovered. He had no idea what to say when James’s son would ask how he slipped from Azkaban to visit him before his birthday. He would lie to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but not to Harry.

"Have you ever sworn, sir, that you're up to no good?"

Sirius's jaw dropped. The question explained why Harry didn't find the search for Filch any bit challenging.

"You have the map," he whispered. "Our map? The Marauders' Map?"

In reply, the boy took out the old parchment from his pocket. "I got it from two fifth years," he admitted, but didn't say more.

"Can I.... Can I tell it just one thing?" Sirius begged. Harry, still hesitantly as if he somehow feared the map, gave it to him.

The substitute teacher unfolded it as if the old sheet were the most precious treasure in the wizarding world. Without activating the map, he touched his wand to the parchment and said, "I'm back from Azkaban."

Much like when an unworthy would try to operate it, the map wrote back to him. Four lines appeared, one after the other.

'I hope, at least, you made a glorious escape? Swimming to the shore on your own, or something similar?'

This was his own handwriting. Sirius would have hated to disappoint his own past self. Being released was a common and traditional way, compared to an unaided escape that had never happened before.

'Good to hear! I told you you'd end up there!'

This was written in small, uneven letters. Sirius ignored it.

'Welcome home.'

The wizard smiled at Moony's words. In fact, Remus’s current self was still exactly as quiet and gentle as he had always been. But the substitute teacher was waiting for the last line, written by the memory of a friend who had died long ago.

'Too bad. We agreed we'd go there together.'

And wouldn't have that been more bearable, Sirius grinned. He wiped a tear from his eye, and gave the map back to Harry. The green-eyed boy seemed even more suspicious about the parchment now.

“Last year, I happened across a diary that kept writing back in a similar way.”

Sirius nodded. After the full moon of September Moony had sent him a letter in which he’d mentioned the latest dark lord’s horcrux diary. He was quick to assure Harry that the Marauders’ Map wasn’t anything like that.

"We spent so much time with it, our map became something like a portrait of the four of us. It works on the same principles. Here, take it back. You inherited it, after all. And thank you."

"I... Inherited?"

"Since Prongs has died, it's only fair it would be passed on to his son." Harry’s eyes grew wider. "We lost this in seventh year. It was confiscated, and before we could have taken it back, we graduated, and went our merry ways to auror training. Moony planned to get it back someday, but Prongs convinced him that the map would be earned by someone worthy of it.” Sirius looked into those green eyes, now full with awe. “And wasn’t your father right? Here, take it. And go, don't just use it, but make sure you learn to make a better version."

"Thank you, sir," Harry managed. He folded the map back, and put it into the inner pocket, close to his heart.

Sirius went to check on the other students. Some had formed groups, each member trying to find the caretaker in one specific place or the other. And they had interesting results.

"Uhm, I think I have Peeves on my map," somebody said. "Doesn't he count as something worse than Filch?"

"Can't I get a point for finding the Bloody Baron?"

"How can Hermione be on the second floor? What's that - arithmancy class?"

"I FOUND HIM!"

A blond Slytherin boy ran to the substitute teacher, proudly showing his map, on which Argus Filch was approaching.

"Children out of the room during class!" Now they could hear him, as well. Perhaps the old squib found the kids faster than the other way around. Sirius suppressed an uncomfortable thought that the man wasn't without magic at all; only, he possessed it for the one and single purpose of making others' lives miserable. It was a blessing that he wasn't more powerful a wizard.

"And you! Sirius Black! I remember I told you not to glare at me like that!"

"And I still do," Sirius grinned back. "Well done, er..." He applied the same magic on a note sheet to learn the blond child's name. "Well done, Draco Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin."

"You can’t give points to these noisy pests for running rampage !" Filch protested.

"Sadly, now I can," Sirius said. Once, this squib had scared him. Now, as an adult, he found the man had no power over him anymore. "All right, class, let's go back to the room."

As he gathered them back together, Sirius wondered if he counted as a traitor, giving ten points to the enemy house. The wand in his pocket, however, the cold and calm presence with him, assured him it was fine. One day into the summer holidays and nobody would care about points anymore, but the lesson would last, or so he hoped. He was here to teach bravery and justice. Had he lost faith in these? Too bad if he had. The icy touch of his wand reassured him this was the wise choice. He didn't have to be competitive anymore. He was a Gryffindor still, but not a child. And he had already heard enough stories of a certain teacher favouring his own house and earning the hatred of everybody else.

His competitiveness returning to him beyond his control, Sirius decided he would not become something like Severus Snape.

Still, he hoped he would be able to give more points to his own house in the next few days.


	2. New generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts life

Seventh year was a catastrophe. Of the four houses together, Sirius learnt, not one senior student was able to put a proper shield charm on their clothing. Sirius wasn't asking much, or so he thought, only a defence spell that would protect the robes' wearer from simple jinxes and ricocheting hexes. The so-called afternoon class eventually lasted until dinner, and Sirius dropped on his bed afterwards, more exhausted than when he had been running with a werewolf for three nights straight.

The Dark Lord had, in this aspect, doubtlessly won. Because of the jinx on the Defence department, no sane auror had taken the position as teacher, if they had any choice. Subsequently, the new generation's teachers were either incompetent, or unsuited, or worse. In the school that claimed to be the best in the world, defence education was an epic failure.

This was terrible news, considering the nation had also produced the most horrible, darkest wizard of the century. And he was, albeit weak and defeated, still around and ready to kill.

Sirius buried his face in the pillow. How could Dumbledore, most feared opponent of the dark lord and defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, have let this happen?

Maybe he didn't have a choice. Maybe keeping the other aspects of education on an acceptable level took all his strength. Maybe he didn't know where to start.

But these were excuses, not explanations, Sirius mused to himself. In the worst case, the headmaster should have been obliged to teach the students himself, as he was the sole wizard whom the dark one wouldn't dare to face. Granted, that would have meant risking his position, his power.

Sirius still believed that the leader of the Order should have taken the challenge. No failure is as bad as not trying.

He woke to the full moon shining in his face. How long had he slept? Hours, obviously.

He sneaked out of the room, and followed his nose to Lupin's office.

As he suspected, the door was locked with powerful charms. But his keen dog hearing only picked up the even breathing of a large werewolf. Clearly, that sanity potion had worked. Moony was able to sleep through the night.

This also meant that they wouldn’t roam the Forbidden Forest tonight. Maybe this was what Dumbledore had warned him about when he had said they had grown up. They were not children anymore.

But the headmaster had been wrong about something else, and couldn't be viewed as a reliable reference anymore. Sirius couldn't let that slip. But still, Remus was sleeping quietly during the full moon, and it was his choice to do so. Even if the animagus felt slightly disappointed, he had no right to feel betrayed.

He sneaked back to his own place, the room next to Flitwick's, which had a flying motorbike parked on the balcony. He could have flown away, into the night, even if he went alone.

But then, he had three more classes on the following day, and he doubted those would be any bit easier.

In fact, morning came sooner than he wanted. The next time he woke, the sunrays painted the room in brilliant reddish gold light, and thestrals were flying on the horizon. Dumbledore's phoenix peeked in through the open window, glaring at him, as if judging him for his thoughts.

"Hi, Fawkes. Do you think I should get up already?"

He took his wand from the nightstand, its familiar cold lacking any emotion. As Sirius remembered, Daire had never been a morning person. The now-teacher went to get his clothes and slid the wand into his pocket before dressing for the new day.

One advantage of being a teacher instead of a student was that he didn't have to sit too close to the Slytherins. The tables were still arranged as in his youth: the four houses’ parallel to each other, and the teachers’ at the head of them. Sirius found a place next to the divination teacher, as far away as possible from the only Slytherin teacher. He observed Trelawney with the curiosity of a magizoologist. In return for his attention, the witch told him she'd seen a horrible omen in her morning tea, then she showed him a pattern of boiled leaves that had clearly sedimented into the shape of his animagus form.

Sirius took it as a good sign, and it must have shown on his face. Sybil Trelawney was less than amused at his reaction.

From where he was seated, he could see the two red-headed beaters of the Gryffindor team. While everyone else was eating, the boys released mouse after mouse under the table. Most of the tiny rodents sprinted to the Slytherin students unnoticed. The one that had apparently lost its way turned into a glass ball in the middle of the great hall, and it started spinning and beeping. A transfigured sneakoscope, Sirius noticed. The boys must have gathered a dozen of them, turned them into mice so that they would approach the target, then, as the charm wore off, they would turn back into what they really were, and alert everyone to whatever Slytherin activity was in the making. He quickly acquired the lost one and hid it in his pocket, so that the fun would not be spoiled.

And he very soon found an opportunity to give it back, as the twin boys turned out to be fifth year students, with whom his morning class was due.

“I admire your talent, gentlemen, but be more careful next time,” he greeted them when they were all in the corridor, heading to the classroom. Almost identical faces turned back to him with expressions of awkwardness and awe. The only difference he noticed was the large letter on each of their sweaters. 

"Sir, is it true that you..." the one with the G started.

"Left a map at school?" the other completed. "Our younger brother Ron said Harry told him so."

"So you are the famous Weasley twins!" Sirius said gleefully. "Moony told me that you have the map! Or had it, before you passed it on to third-years."

The twins exchanged unreadable looks. Sirius realised a moment too late that he had called Remus by his nickname.

"Mr. Filch thought first years weren’t a danger to his collection of magical items that he doesn't know how to use. Gred Weasley, at your service!"

"Forge Weasley," the other added. "So who might you be?"

There was no way Sirius could have misheard the question. "Padfoot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sostrata was kind and betaed the first few chapters for me. However, she has her own writing to do, not to mention Real Life. It would be great help if somebody would volunteer to beta. If you feel you're up to it, please let me know!


	3. So that you understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defense class for fifth year.

"Sir? Is it true there's a werewolf at Hogwarts?"

Sirius would have bet the seemingly innocent question of the Gryffindor chaser Alicia Spinnet was Snape's work somehow.

"Why? Did someone say so during potions class?"

"How did you know?"

Sirius took a deep breath, during which he censored his words. "Professor Snape has had a lasting interest in them since he ran into one during his school years." Then he decided on even stronger self-censorship. He had taken his position as substitute teacher exactly to prevent Remus’s secret getting out too soon, so he couldn’t tell the story about the nosy Slytherin and the stag-animagus who had saved his life. "To answer your question, young lady: yes, there is an entire pack of werewolves in the Forbidden Forest. Considering your past Defence teachers, I suppose you were taught a lot about werewolves, but actually learnt little?"

This class was not going in the direction he or Remus intended, but after his experience with the incompetent seventh years, he could not afford to teach about wizarding pranks like the Tarantallegra and its counter-jinx. There were more important topics to cover. He settled on the table, with his boots on a chair's back, and began to talk. He tried to sound like an unbiased teacher.

"First of all, a werewolf is a normal witch or wizard for 25 days of a lunar month. They aren't brainless, at least no more than any other wizard, and not dangerous to those who don't severely provoke them. However, there are some really crazy ones, which means that the lycanthropy infection doesn't cure one from being stupid. You've been warned. Do not try to help idiots by getting them bit."

A boy with dreadlocks snickered, and poked the redhead in the F sweater. Sirius turned back to the girl who had asked the question. She had already been eye-catching when he’d first seen her at the quidditch pitch, but now that she was on the ground and without the thick protective garment, she was gorgeous. 

 "The Hogwarts pack our beautiful chaser asked about, however, is an entirely different topic. These are animals all the time, though as intelligent as a human. As far as I heard, two infected magi had met during a full moon, and two months later they had a wonderful litter of otherwise normal European grey wolves. These have the brains of their human ancestors, with only their scratch and bite being as infectious as those of an infected wizard. If anyone is further inclined, I suggest you ask Hagrid about these. He raised a werewolf cub, or at least, I know about only one."

There, he thought. He avoided the direct answer thanks to the pack and the gamekeeper. Probably Hagrid would reward the curious student with a live puppy, but these youngsters seemed reasonable enough not to accept such gift.

"As for the infection. It solely affects wizardkind, as it does not take in animals even if they get bitten. Muggles usually die of the wounds of the attack. Curiously, half-breeds, such as part-veela, part-giants, and the like, are all safe."

The young men and women listened carefully, as if this was the first time they had heard a relatively coherent lesson on the topic. Sirius was no longer surprised by the general lack of common sense in wizarding society: in the past few decades, education on werewolves (and likely, several other topics) was made up of vague fears without any reasonable explanation.

But these were no fearful children. These were Gryffindors, an exceptionally open-minded class, fearless and energetic. Several of them played on the quidditch team, and the boy with the dreadlocks was the  commentator. Some of the teachers had called these kids 'a handful': this was one reason they had the defence class separately instead of being paired with another house. Considering the twins with the mouse-sneakoscopes, Sirius admitted they deserved their reputation. And he had a feeling these two boys had already made the connection between 'Moony' who signed the map, and the teacher who had fallen ill a second time this schoolyear. They seemed too smart to be fooled.

He continued with the topic. He had about half an hour more before he'd leave this class for an entire month.

"Note that a fully transformed werewolf is not in control of his actions, but remembers what has happened after the moon starts to wane. At the time of the full moon, he would only try to maul any human available - even himself, if there's no better target. It's like being put under the Imperius curse every month. I repeat: Imperius, regularly, all their lives. No wonder the mere mention of lycanthropy in a pureblood society can make everyone scream like a muggle."

Thinking back, yes, that was exactly his family's reaction when he, sixth-year Gryffindor and  target of general hatred and disdain anyway, had told his mother that his best friend was a werewolf. Then he had grabbed his already packed belongings, finally allowed (forced) to move out.

"Now, lads and ladies, you are smart and educated and hopefully skilled in healing. However, if you want to prevent being bitten by a werewolf, the only safe method takes a lot of devotion, patience, some luck, and one mandrake leaf. For, as much as I can tell, the only way you can make sure a werewolf doesn't perceive you as a target, is becoming something other than a target, other than a human. But in return for your troubles, you get a life-long skill that can save your life, or your sanity, on occasion, and it means you're able to act even without a wand."

"You mean we could learn to be animagi," the G-marked redhead gasped. "My, in third year it sounded like a lot of effort for nothing, but if we have a good reason..."

"We could always call it self defence," his twin brother continued.

"It takes a lot more commitment than you seem to realise," Sirius reminded them. "One doesn't do it for just a few pranks. Only start if you are willing to really change for it. The incantation translates, 'I want my soul to be that of an animagus,' and you have to cast it every morning and every night, for one month, maybe even longer. And note the risk you take if you fail to register. In theory, that simply earns you several years in Azkaban, but I know from a quite reliable source that noone ever received that sentence. The Ministry would not take the risk of someone with, say, an albatross form just flying off into the sunset. Consider this before thinking up some new joke."

He couldn't miss the blinks the dreadlocked boy exchanged with the Weasley twins. Well, it was up to them now.

"Sir, is it possible for a werewolf, I mean, for a person already infected, to do this?” another girl asked. “Werewolf transformation starts from the human form, and you said it doesn't even take in someone who's already an animal."

"Good way of thinking, young lady, but becoming an animagus requires a clear mind for at least one month, a luxury that werewolves don't have. During daytime of the full moon, they are somewhat human-like and usually capable of badly articulated speech, but that's far from the level of casting spells with a properly held wand. No, sadly, it is no cure."

The young witch wryly thanked him.

Sirius blinked at the clock on the main tower, and decided to give that Tarantallegra jinx a chance. He didn’t want his students to leave class with their minds still on lycanthropy.


	4. Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Sirius, quidditch.

The Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff match was held that weekend, and Sirius suggested to Harry that they go and watch the green and silver team training. It would be a great opportunity to observe their tactics, and if the observers’ presence distracts the players, well, it's not listed among the rules as a fault.

Once in the stadium, of course, the two of them paid little attention to what was happening in the air. They talked about Prongs, the map, and how four seemingly inseparable friends ended up betraying and abandoning one another during the Days of Darkness.

"It's odd how only Professor Dumbledore calls Voldemort by his real name," Harry mused. "I haven’t ever heard anybody else do so.”

“It’s a great display of courage that you do, too,” Sirius replied.

“I met him twice. That I remember, I mean. He literally settled in the body of our first defence teacher, like a parasite. He forced Quirrel to kill unicorns so that he could survive on their blood. The next year, his diary took over Ginny and she didn't even remember that she had opened the Chamber of Secrets. So, I think I have first-hand experience on what he is capable of."

"He had great talent at fooling and manipulating everyone around him, and he drew his power from his followers. From those who want a share of his strength, ironically."

"Ginny never wanted Voldemort’s power!" Harry defended the girl. "She was feeling lonely, and when she started writing in the diary, Tom wrote back to her. She had no idea who she was dealing with!"

"I never said it was her fault," Sirius backtracked. "Wait a minute! Diaries like that don't just show up at random."

Harry nodded.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said. "I saw him put it into her cauldron, but I can’t prove it."

"Lucius Malfoy? The deatheater, husband of Narcissa Black?"

"You're related to Draco's mother?" Harry asked back. "Draco is that seeker, now at the third loop post. The one who found Filch today."

Sirius couldn't quite see the broom rider, but he remembered the boy in class whose blond hair reminded him so much of the wizard he had never managed to catch red-handed. However, the senior Malfoy's name was in the list he gave the journalist, so the hunt was not yet over.

"Most pure-blood families are related to each other, if you look closely enough," Sirius explained. "With several examples of inbreeding, whenever they found no one else who shared their bigoted views. That makes Narcissa my cousin, and if so, then little Draco is my nephew. You don’t like him, do you?"

Silence was good enough an answer.

“It’s all right. I’m sure you’re a better person than any member of our entire family.”

"I don't feel better than anybody," Harry admitted. "I mean, of course I am a better person than Professor Snape, for example, that's rather obvious, but…”

“But?”

“You said, your entire family. That would include you.”

Sirius gave a dry, barking-like laugh. “Don’t worry, my opinion about myself is not a bit flattering. Only, I’m sane enough not to let it show.”

“You’re a good person. I don’t think I would be this nice to people who didn’t believe my innocence,” Harry said. “Professor Lupin told me it was Professor Dumbledore who should have arranged your trial, and didn’t. I can tell you he felt horrible after Buckbeak chased Pettigrew through Hogsmeade. He was even more distracted than usual.”

Sirius could imagine what Harry meant by Albus Dumbledore being ‘distracted’. But he also noted that his godson said ‘after’ and not ‘before’ that chase.

“When I was your age, Harry, Professor Dumbledore was my hero and idol. If anyone said as much as a sceptical word about him, I jinxed them immediately. Considering that your surviving family seems about as bad as mine, I believe you view him similarly, and your reaction would be the same.” Sirius took a deep breath. This talk wasn’t going nearly as well as the previous one.

“You’re being nice to him for me?” Harry stared, disbelieving.

 "Do you know that a godfather’s main duty is to take care of a child if something happens to his parents?” Sirius asked. “Yet I’m scared. I’ve been given a second chance, and I’m scared that one day you would still choose to return to Lily’s muggle family instead of coming home with me."

"You mean I…"

"I mean you can come and stay with me in London instead of with Petunia in Little Whinging. Of course, you can.” He attempted an encouraging smile.

But his godson’s face was gleaming. "You mean I can stay with you through the entire summer? And for Christmas, too?"

"As long as you want to, Harry, that’s the least I can offer. But be warned, I’m not the same person James had trusted you to. I’m bitter, and hurt, and most of my happiness had been drained from me. I look like a walking skeleton. But if you need refuge with a wreck of a cheerful man, then here I am."

Harry threw his arms around the thin man’s bony neck happily.

"That would be wonderful! "

"Or it would be a desperate move, to choose me over someone even worse, " Sirius replied soberly. "It’s not hard to outdo a stepfather who won’t even sign a Hogsmeade permission form for you.”

“How do you know about the permission form?”

Sirius wished he could tell the truth, but avoiding a direct lie was all he could manage. He remembered the empty cage in Harry’s room, and that offered something like an explanation.

“Do you sleep with your window open, so that your owl can come and leave?”

“I… I do. And I asked Hedwig if she had any idea how I could get it signed, because Uncle Vernon wasn’t going to.”

“You must have a great owl, Harry.”

“YOU SIGNED IT! WITH DAD’S SIGNATURE!” Harry cried happily, and hugged his godfather again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Sirius awkwardly hugged him back. After so many long years, he had hope again: maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t fail Harry for a second time. Parenting appeared so easy in this perfect moment, and the cold in his wand pocket reassured him, as if reminding him that he won’t have to do it all alone.

They sat in silence for a while, with Harry occasionally commenting on the tricks and maneuvers the Slytherins would practise. But they continued to sit there even after the seven players disappeared into the changing room, and watched the centaur herd trot down from the forest to the greenhouses.

"Did you like it here?" Harry asked. "Hogwarts, I mean. Does it look so special to someone raised by wizards instead of muggles?"

"It was my home for seven years," Sirius replied. "Hagrid was the first I could call a parental figure. My friends here were my first real brothers, quite unlike the boy born of the same woman as I." He tried to say more, but nothing came to his mind. "Only now do I realise how many memories I lost during my past twelve years. You know, dementors feed on good memories. On anything positive, really. The lack of memories is how I know I was happy here."

Harry hesitated, unsure what to say. Eventually, he just hugged his godfather again, who couldn't have asked for more.


	5. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting in the Gryffindor common room, for a heartwarming reason. Sirius in not amused.

Hermione found them well after sunset, discussing Harry's grandparents with whom Sirius had spent an entire summer.

James wasn t kidding when he said they d welcome me anytime. They not only accepted me despite where I came from, they loved me just as much as they did their own Prongs.

The mention of that name reminded Harry of another question.

"And where do the names come from?" Harry asked. "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Why? When his godfather simply gave a curious look, he continued, None of these sound like what I would choose."

"Later," Sirius decided. "Good evening, Miss Granger. I see you're already using the mapping charm?"

"Good evening, professor! Yes, I need it so that I don't accidentally run into myself. That would be catastrophic," she said with a completely straight face.

"Good to hear it's useful," Sirius grinned.

"Hermione is like that," Harry added, as if he hadn t tried to guess her unusual habits this school year. "I have absolutely no idea why she fears meeting herself, but if you knew her as much as I do, sir, you wouldn't doubt she's speaking the truth. Like, there could be a possibility that if she met herself, Gryffindor would lose as many as five points." Now he grinned, too.

"This is serious business, Harry!" Hermione scolded him immediately.

They went back to the castle together. Sirius watched with a wide smile when Harry told the young witch that he was going to spend the Christmas holidays with his godfather, and was overwhelmed when a second-year boy invited him to the Gryffindor common room 'for just one photo'. After twelve years, he had no doubt he was right where he should be.

They climbed into the common room together, only to find it room full of students, all of whom had apparently been waiting for him.

"Sorry that our brother Percy is missing," the F-lettered twin greeted him. "He says he needs to stuff two more books into his big fat brain before dinner."

"He has books for dinner, too," the G one added.

It felt like home, real home. The room was carpeted in vivid Gryffindor colors, the flames were dancing in the fireplace, giving the entire room a discrete golden light.

Suddenly a familiar-looking boy climbed into the room, dragging himself on his palms, as his legs had obviously been hit by a paralysing jinx. Sirius waited to see which kid would first recognize the spell, and cast its counter-jinx, but all were too busy laughing. Then a seventh year girl helped the boy to a armchair, and told him it would wear off in a few minutes.

Oh, come on, Sirius murmured. Raise your wand, please. The boy blinked at him with equal parts confusion and shame. This was not how anyone would cast a proper counter-spell, Sirius frowned. Seeing nobody would act, he stepped next to the boy, grabbed the young one s wand-holding hand in his own, bony grip. He could feel a slight trembling.

But the child didn t resist the attempt to help, so Sirius continued. He steadied the boy s hand and told him to point the wand at himself. Then he guided his hand through a swift sweeping motion. This is what you will need to do. Say Repello incantatem and turn your wand in the direction of those who cast the jinx. On my count of three. One, two

The common room fell dead silent.

Repello incantatem. It was more of a timid whisper, but as they swept the jinx off the young one s legs and waved it towards the portrait hole, everyone could hear a heavy body falling to the floor just outside. About a dozen Gryffindors ran to peek out, and the second-year photographer immediately went to take a few pictures. They sounded quite cheerful.

Sirius, however, was still staring down at the wand the boy was holding.

This was Frank Longbottom s.

My dad s, the young wizard replied with some pride. I use it since he can t anymore.

Suddenly, Sirius wished they were somewhere else, somewhere quiet and private, because he had to ask how Frank and his wife Alice were doing. He had heard in Azkaban that three wizards led by Bellatrix had tortured them to lasting insanity, but something inside him still refused to accept all the horror that had happened to the auror couple. He couldn t believe that he had lost them forever.

I think your parents are the only witch and wizard still alive who haven t betrayed me, ever, he said. Pleased to meet you again, Neville.

Then he stood up, addressing the chattering crowd of young Gryffindors.

"As a teacher, please allow me to be extremely disappointed in the rest of you. And also as your teacher, I dread to think of how many extra lessons you would need to catch up with your education."

He noticed a few grimaces. The red-haired boy next to Harry grumbled quietly about someone called Lockhart. Hermione was staring at her own feet.

"That's exactly what we would like to ask you, sir," the fifth-year with the dreadlocks finally said. "We have discussed the werewolf problem you mentioned in class, and concluded that we don't want to, as you said, scream like a muggle."

"Or like a pureblood," a girl from the same class added.

"You could teach us, couldn t you? This school needs highly skilled rascals," Forge continued.

Sirius blinked aside, only to see Hermione nod. A little further, the youngest brother of the twins was looking him in the eye, eagerly.

"Like you were the girl who had helped the jinxed boy to the chair now claimed. After I put veritaserum in Filch's tea, he told amazing stories of you and Professor Lupin and Harry's father."

"How did you get veritaserum?" Sirius blinked. He was too shocked to appreciate how the girl avoided mentioning Peter, although the caretaker most certainly had.

"I'm preparing for the N.E.W.T. of potions," she replied. "I might as well be the third Gryffindor to do so since Professor Snape is teaching."

That explained the lack of auror recruits, the substitute teacher murmured to himself. He was most displeased with Dumbledore assisting to Snape s work here. Did the headmaster not know Snivellus was a deatheater? Of course he would do anything to prevent any auror candidates from getting proper education.

"Last year, the exams were cancelled, so quite a few people passed," another girl told him.

The fifth-year boy with the dreadlocks stepped in front of him. "Sir, will you teach us to be animagi?"

"I?" Sirius twice blinked. What conspiracy did he just walk into? He was sooo going back to Azkaban, if he multiplied the number of unregistered animagi by an entire house of students, he thought.

You. Hermione joined the discussion. "You said it yourself that the most anyone can help a werewolf is keeping company as an animagus."

Sure he had said that, but not in third year class. Sirius swallowed. "I can bring you a few books," he finally offered. The same books he and James had once used, he inwardly added. "But I can't supply you with the determination it will take. And I won't be here to supervise you all the time. If you attempt it, have at least one fellow student to keep an eye on you. Until you manage, no one can tell what your animal form will be. Your animal instincts, or mere weight if you happen to be a freshwater squid, can be a danger. Also, there is a slim chance that one of you becomes a magical creature. Slim, but don t ignore it."

"Cool! And can we go werewolf-spotting next moon?"

Remus would kill me, if the Ministry doesn't, was Sirius's inward reply.

"I would like you to think it through, first. Then you will need to learn the reversing charm, maybe you can practise on Professor McGonagall if you don't tell her why you need it."

"That almost sounded like a no," the only player of the quidditch team with whom he hadn't yet had a class, pointed out.

"You aren't in immediate danger, maybe except from your own stupidity," he replied.

"And how do we get mandrake leaves?" another girl from the fifth year asked.

"That's the easiest part," young Longbottom said. The boy s legs were now supposedly back to normal, but he was still sitting in the armchair as if that were the safest spot for him. "How many do we need?"

"NONE!" Sirius decided. "I'm aware you are Gryffindors at the daredevil stage, I vaguely remember when I was, but please, think this through first. Think!" he repeated. " is the worst and hardest phase of planning ahead, but not one you could afford to leave it out."

A red-headed twin was about to tell him something, maybe that he should look in the mirror before preaching about foresight, but then his older brother (just as red headed, but completely without his sense of humour) entered the common room. Suddenly, all the excited chattering died.

"Finally, Percy!" the boy with the camera improvised. "Would you please join us for a photo?"


	6. The sane and the normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of peace and quiet. Even that happens sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've ran out of betaed text here. Please, if you could help, that'd be awesome!

That evening after dinner Sirius finally found time to have a drink with Hagrid. They had already talked, briefly, when he had arrived two whole days before, but then Hagrid had little time apart from greeting him with a bone-crushing hug and hastily giving his well maintained motorbike back. The younger wizard had yet to thank the gamekeeper for the inspiration that had sparked his willingness to communicate with the guards. 

That led to a three hours long chat. By the time Sirius got back to his room, with the motorbike parked in front of the window, he really didn't feel like running any more errands that night. He dutifully checked if Moony was still asleep. He tapped the werewolf's locked door, and the wand made with dementor hand skin opened it without any effort from its wielder. 

Moony looked up, his yellowish green wolf-eyes as peaceful as his usual human expression. He tried to form words, perhaps asking Sirius to change form just to be on the safe side, or requesting him to close the door again. Sirius did both, knowing from his own experience that children wandering around the castle in the middle of the night were not as rare as some naive souls wanted to believe. Then he dropped on the floor next to his friend, his neatly trimmed black fur rubbing against the coarse grey hair. Moony sniffed him, perhaps curious about the human-smell of the students Sirius was in contact with. But instead of standing up, he just put his hairy snout on Padfoot's foreleg. 'Puppy,' Sirius recalled. The black dog rested his head on the werewolf's shoulder and fell asleep. 

There were still a few hours until sunrise.


	7. Welcome to the old world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Daire meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is un-betaed. If you'd like to help me fix whatever mistake you spot, please let me know.

A perfectly muggle-looking motorcycle rolled towards London with its perfectly muggle-looking rider. The breaking charms, similar to those on a reliable racing broom, now kept the vehicle from randomly crashing into nearby cars or causing an accident any other way. The flight spells were only needed where the potholes would have distracted the rider from his thoughts.

There was a lot to mentally sort through, and Sirius was out of shape after his twelve years in Azkaban. Some details were clear to him, like that he would make a proper comeback on Lily's sister and her husband for mistreating Harry in his absence. He had a shopping list for the seventh-year witch who needed rare or expensive materials for practising for her Potions exam. He had faint ideas of what to do with the numerous Gryffindors who wanted to become animagi. He didn't know when or how could he become worthy of the title of godfather, much less, if Harry would want to really stay with him for the Christmas holidays. Maybe he was only trying to avoid being alone in the old castle, with only his owl Hedwig as company.

His own, tiny black owl, still unnamed and consequently rejecting any name suggestions, had left Hogwarts before he and Remus had showed up for breakfast. Sirius worried he was too boring for the active little bird.

London welcomed him back. For hours, he was driving the capital's roads, enjoying the music of his motorbike's strong engine and the irritated shouting of some muggle policemen. They weren't angry with him, for a change: someone had parked a pompous car in the way of several others, causing a traffic jam that now blocked an entire street. The motorbike, of course, could pass between them easily.

Turning back, however, Sirius noticed that if the wrongly parked blue Mercedes were just a few centimeters shorter, the queue of clogged vehicles would be able to pass. Quietly, in the cover of his new Hell's Angels jacket, he pointed his wand at the trouble-causing car. As an educated wizard, he knew nobody would ever thank him shrinking some rich jerk's brand new car, but as a former auror, he was also aware nobody would mind or notice if he interfered with muggle affairs, either. As long as it doesn�t go like last time.

Honestly, it made him feel like he was sixteen again. Mischievous, unstoppable... But he was painfully aware this was only an illusion. He was no longer sixteen, he was exactly twice as much. No longer unstoppable, but instead, bitter to a fault. Shrinking a muggle car could not help his intense feeling of betrayal, although it sated his thirst for justice for the moment.

The policemen, seemingly just as impotent as the majority of Ministry of Magic�s workers tended to be, continued arguing with each other about the removal of the obstacle. They didn't seem to notice that now that the original problem had been solved, they were all that remained of the problem.

"Hey, you, bluecoats! I want to rob the nearest bank, would you please tell me where it is?"

"Get lost, oldtimer!" Now there was a genuine insult in that. His Triumph Boneville might have been outdated, but it wasn't an oldtimer. And he would show them!

"With pleasure!" He gunned the engine, and drifted around the men twice before rushing away. Messing with authorities was fun, with or without magic.

But again, something was missing. As he passed the shrunk Mercedes, with one policeman now chasing him on foot, we wondered where the chill of the mischief had gone.

He blinked back: the clogged traffic finally started to get moving. The policeman was shambling back to his colleague, who seemed somewhat amused. Sirius gunned the engine again, and left them.

But where would he go? Home was not yet an option. Visiting some Order members neither, he didn't even know who survived and who didn't. There was the St. Mungo's, where a healer was still waiting for him to show up after twelve years of imprisonment, but Sirius didn't feel the need for that visit yet. He forgot to buy a few more bottles of what roborant Skeeter had sent him after the interview, but there had to be apothecaries in London, so he headed for Diagon Alley.

Witches and wizards turned after him as he drove past between them. This was the kind of attention he was forbidden to enjoy while in the muggle areas.

"Mom, I want a bike like that."

"Absolutely not!"

"But mom..."

"What is that thing he's riding?"

"Who let the muggle in?"

He laughed in the face of the witch who had asked the question.

He bought a copy of the Daily Prophet, and was pleased to read the TRIAL TODAY headline. While he was at Hogwarts, Skeeter didn't waste time, it seemed. Avery was her first prey. As the ex-auror remembered, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had failed to gather ample evidence against the former supporter of the current dark lord. According to the article, someone had uncovered him selling potions to muggle criminals.

Sirius grinned, and asked the seller if she had a copy from the previous days' papers. Then he went straight to the owl office and subscribed for the Prophet, so that he wouldn't need to ask similar favours again.

From here, he went to the muggle zone again, this time on foot. The Ministry of Magic wasn't far, and he enjoyed walking on two feet in the sun. He recalled sneaking around this area on all four during the night trips with Daire, Skipps and rarely Vaqqu.  Once Daire had deactivated the alarm of a butcher’s shop, and of course, Padfoot had jumped on the opportunity of a free dinner. But he was a free wizard now; he could afford the luxury of being seen anywhere.

He didn't take any of the Ministry’s main entrances. In peacetime, those were scarcely used, as apparation was more popular than getting flushed down a public toilet. But neither did he feel inclined to apparate to the visitor zone. Luxury away, he took a smaller pathway only a few were familiar with.

On a perfectly muggle statue's stand, he found the tiny crack between two blocks of marble. He ran his fingers on it, and his hand fit into the fracture despite it being only two centimeters long and about one millimeter wide. The next moment, his entire body was pulled into the stand, to the top of a marble stairway. He pulled out his wand.

"Lumos!"

Nothing happened.

"Lumos maxima!'"

His wand still didn't do anything.

"Verdimillious!"

He felt a faint reassurance that no danger was in the proximity, although that spell was supposed to show details, not simply to inform him. Sirius sighed: that's what he could expect from a wand made from a sightless creature. He very carefully ran his left hand on the wall until he found the correct stone to push. It was a little higher than he remembered.

The ground sank with him as the first block of the long stairway activated. He still couldn't see anything, so he had to shamble stair by stair. When he almost fell over, he put his now-useless wand away and continued on four paws. It wasn't quite the same as floating over the stairs, he decided, but much better than stumbling on two feet.

The Ministry of Magic was built deep underground, and he was headed to a corridor that ran beneath the court rooms. It was slightly nostalgic to sneak around in a dark tunnel, and he never felt the absence of his friends this painfully. It wasn't the effect of any outer force, this time: rather, it was the first occasion when he had to face reality all on his own. Prongs was dead, Wormtail was in his rightful place, and Moony was at work. Odd, he mused, how the werewolf ended up being the only of the four of them who had a decent job.

Sirius honestly didn't know if he was good for anything. He had once been an auror, when those were needed, but investigating peacetime offenses was definitely not his thing. In addition, he couldn't imagine working with the wizards who had unjustly put him in Azkaban for what was intended to be a lifetime.

The stairway ended at a spacious hall, although he remembered the ceiling was too low at some points. That was yet another reason for him to stay in his dog form.

He saw faint lights on corridors leading to the various courtrooms. One also had a tiny streak of intense brightness, so curiously, he went to check it out.

It was a one-man elevator, its bottom circle rested on the corridor ground, while the ceiling above had a circular hole. He could make out the shadows of a few bars: the elevator must have led to an interrogation cage.

Next to this beam of light he saw COURTROOM 13 written on the wall in the ever-changing color of glowing paint. Somebody must have added magic-bearing ink to the markers. Sirius wondered if the elevator would activate for him, but then, he didn't want to be trapped in a closed one-man cage in an empty room. With a sigh, he decided to return later. Now he was looking for Courtroom 7.

Again, the feeling of complete loneliness took over him. At least Moony could have come with him to the backstage area, but James was the one who most enjoyed being able to get to forbidden territory. And Peter was the mazerunning expert. At least, he comforted himself, Wormtail won’t be running around for a while.

He found Courtroom 7, marked with the same colorful glowing paint. The two-winged door was locked, but light was seeping from behind it at the edges. He pointed the cold wand at the supposed place of the lock, and it opened without an incantation.

The courtroom was bright, but empty. Sirius could hear people talking on the other side of the walls. He took the Wizengamot's chair for the head of the Black family, perhaps best spot in the first row, then started to read through yesterday's paper. He fell asleep on the second page.

Icy wind woke him about ten minutes later. Sirius rubbed his neck before recognizing the friendly breath. Then he immediately jumped up, and breathed back at the dementor.

Daire looked completely healthy now, the tear on his cloak only visible if someone knew where to look. He was floating two feet above the ground, straightened out to his full height, the front of his hood hanging almost at neck level.

His perfectly black, heavy cloak got a little wrinkled when Sirius threw both arms around the cold, bulky figure.

"Missed you," the wizard whispered. "Are you doing fine?"

As much as anyone can in Azkaban, Daire replied, then asked the same question out of politeness.

"Of course, you know exactly how I am," Sirius answered with a bittersweet smile. "Gradually moving back to the wizarding world. Getting back on speaking terms with some fellow Order members. Maybe my godson will one day accept me as godfather, although the longest we talked about were some stricktly censored stories of his father. Hagrid gave my bike back after twelve years. I taught the Gryffindors the mapping charm, and we discussed animagi, so I think I managed to pass on the most important things I once learnt at school. Turns out, our map is not only in good hands, but it also got us two young followers who unknowingly chose us as their ideals." At this point, he shared a few memories of the F and G twins, then, the meeting in the common room, and also, the lesson about werewolves that had led to it.

At least the twins know Remus is a werewolf, the dementor breathed.

"That's what I fear, too."

But they won't turn him lose on Severus Snape like a certain young wizard had once attempted to, Daire added.

"You see trough me," Sirius murmured, rubbing the dementor's bony shoulder. In front of the Wizengamot seats, Daire continued his analysis of the events. The redheads might have had an instable respect for their teachers in general, maybe not without a reason, but they adored Moony, whom they already associated with the map they had had for years.

"I wonder how much they found out on their own," Sirius continued. "And if they'll grow up without making the mistakes we did."

Errors and sins, the dementor breathed. He'd felt the murder attempt in Sirius's soul, one which his friend Prongs had prevented from becoming fatal.

"That’s what makes you special, Daire. You know everything about me, and yet, you won't desert me." He remembered the talk he had had with Harry about being good, or at least, relatively forgiving in order to be acceptable. He shared the memory with the creature without any further question.

Daire carefully avoided all the details regarding Harry. In his opinion, Sirius needed every element of that, if he was going to fulfil his role as godfather. Instead, he focused on the older memories, those which Sirius was ready to discuss. His breath was more reassuring than ever, pointing out that the animagus had honestly regretted turning Snape on Remus. Remorse seals a soul-wound, not without a trace, but neither, without a meaning.

Sirius felt the icy presence among his own thoughts, as if the dementor was searching for something that wasn't clearly highlighted by emotions. There, he found it. The blond boy for whom Sirius didn't have any particular feelings, apart from some very tiny respect that a talented Slytherin normally deserved. But he was the son of Narcissa Black, and thus, the only blood relative Sirius had met since his release.

"Nosy beast," Sirius murmured. "You fully well know my relation to my family."

Daire breathed a request at the wizard. He wished for Sirius to strengthen that bond.

"Highly unlikely," was the reply.

The dementor picked up a memory, a much older memory, one that had once been a happy one, but had long turned bitter during Sirius's imprisonment. The day he had become an auror. The day he took their oath.

"Leave my oath out of this!" The wizard snapped. "I regretted it too, O.K.? You just said remorse heals the soul's damage. There you have it!"

But Daire insisted. He brought up the words of the auror's oath, verbatim, clearer than Sirius thought he could ever remember. There was a part in the text about preventing crime.

"Leave that oath alone, will you?" Despite being seated, Sirius felt his knees shaking.

The dementor, unsatisfied, brought up another memory. This one centered around a young deatheater, a dead deatheater, and Sirius's heart sank.

"Enough," he begged.

The dementor retreated from the wizard's mind, as if regretting the distress he had caused. He didn’t mean to feed, but he didn't apologize for making a point, either. Sirius was a free wizard now, he should cope with such treatment, especially since it was his own younger brother whose fate he had to be reminded of. The creature wanted his wizard to really consider what he was being asked.

"I'm not making a promise," he whispered. "But I will try to talk with him next month."

Daire turned around and rejoined the other dementors on the corridor. Sirius felt slightly devastated. The words of his auror’s oath still echoed in his brain, and so did the voice of his cousin’s son. Then there was Harry’s all-saying silence when Sirius had asked his opinion about the blond boy.

" Hi, Mr Black!" A familiar female voice distracted the wizard from his darkening thoughts. "I haven't seen you at the entrance. You came early, I suppose?"

Sirius recognized the witch for her sharp-curious voice.

"Miss Skeeter, forever a pleasure to see you. I told you I happily come to any dark wizard's trial."

She chuckled. "True to your word, I see. I recall you had once been quite successful auror." The journalist wiped her glasses (now a pair with red crystals) with a flower-scented cloth, then put them back on her nose. "Will you not miss sitting with the others over there?" The indicated bench for the security personnel was still empty, but maybe not for long. Sirius cast a quick glance there, then turned his attention back to the blonde witch. She was looking at him with the kindest smile a predator can offer.

"For a while, I've been sitting with those cloaked guys instead," Sirius murmured, indicating at  the dementors. Then, at a whim, he asked, "Do you want me to introduce you to them?"

"You're mad?"

"It was worth a try. That strong one at the pillar has been my keeper for about eleven years."

The witch observed the opposite part of the courtroom first, trying to get a few words from other wizards attending the trial, but hardly anyone was in the room yet. With no prey in her reach, she turned her attention to the dark figures floating around the open door. "How can you tell one from the other? To me, they are all the same."

"Their auras are different," Sirius replied. "Also, there are physical differences, like that constantly bent neck of the one on Daire's right, or see that torn cape, that's an indicator of spending too much time on solid ground. But don't focus too much on their appearance, it's something they have no influence on, and thus you'd be considered rude."

She stared. “Well, I certainly won’t insult them, they’re four hooded monsters without any differences.” But it was still too early for interview-worthy wizards to come in.

"Only a newly hatched dementor is as dark and depressive as wizardkind usually stereotypes them,” Black explained. “The moment they take their first breath from a human, various patterns would rub on their own personality. This makes each of them quite unique."

She grimaced, but then looked into Sirius's blue eyes, and shook her head.

"I have to leave that to you. I’ll have no business with them."

That sounded like a challenge, one that Black was eager to take.

"Say, have you never been happy in the presence of dementors?"

"Was that meant to be a tricky question?"

Sirius shrugged. "I just wanted to help you with the only thing Azkaban was good for. If you go and make interviews with Mr. Important and Mrs. Everyone-Talks-About, your choice."

She shook her head. "I'm writing about wizards, not monsters."

"Those categories overlap, haven't we discussed that already?"

But she was already gone, chasing an elderly wizard with her quill and notebook.

Daire returned to Sirius as he was staring after her, and he was polite enough not to ask how well Sirius was re-integrating into the wizarding world. He was being tactful, although quite observant.


End file.
